


at least three bad puns

by IuvenesCor



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Banter, Gen, Humor, Meta, like seriously it's mainly banter, this is all because I finally read Psych's Guide to Crime Fighting for the Totally Unqualified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor
Summary: 'Shawn, I know you’ve pulled a lot of clever BS over the years and made some good guesses, but you are not qualified to teach anyone how to solve crime. Your way is the exception, not the rule.’“Wow, Dad. That may be the fourth nicest thing you’ve ever said about my work.”‘Yeah? Don’t get used to it.’-(Shawn's writing a book. Guess who's not impressed?)
Relationships: Henry Spencer & Shawn Spencer
Kudos: 14





	at least three bad puns

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh wow, I haven't written for Psych in so long. Like, "I don't even think I was in high school yet" long lol But it was the first fandom I ever posted fan fiction for, and is easily one of the best shows ever made.
> 
> So "Psych's Guide to Crimefighting for the Totally Unqualified" is such a meta book, and wonderfully in character, and it highkey inspired me to write this for the prompt fill of "Publish."
> 
> (P.S. Lots of love and virtual hugs and well wishes to everyone who is in self-quarantine right now, and especially to those like me who work in essential industries and brave this wild world every day. I'm proud of each of you. <3)

As a professional in the art of theatrical presentation— 

Well, Shawn would say he was a professional, though getting other people to agree was somehow a completely different matter. But anyway…

As a professional in the art of theatrical presentation, Shawn felt qualified to judge dramatic pauses. He’d performed so many crime scene breakdowns and watched about all of the best (and worst) films known to man-and-woman-kind, which meant he understood what made silence effective and at what moments to use it. For instance, a horrified silence, maybe paired with a gasp, after hearing that a bunch of manmade zombie creatures escaped from a secret laboratory would probably rate at an eight out of ten; the same horrified silence used at the news of your best friend dropping your ice cream on his way back to the car would be more like a four.

The dull, incredulous silence from the other end of this particular phone call would barely even score a one. It was, like… a point-three-five. And, for that matter, it was completely uncalled for.

What came after the silence wasn’t entirely necessary, either.

 _‘A book? What the hell do you mean, “a book”?’_

Shawn sighed. “A book, Dad. As in a thing with paper and ink that people always buy to read but usually just use for decoration and dust gathering.”

 _‘And you’re, what, a writer now, too? Psychic detective was a stretch, but you can’t fool anybody with this one, kid.’_

Ever the skeptic, Henry Spencer— especially where his son was involved. And for as much as Shawn could ignore the skepticism, or try to accept his father’s words of doubt as a poorly expressed desire to see his son succeed in life and thus avoid many failures and heartaches, he figured it was more important to say ‘I told you so’ in as many ways as were humanly possible.

“See, you say that, but you’re not the one who just landed a publisher,” he retorted, punctuating the air with his index finger.

 _‘You’re kidding. Is this some back alley independent ‘publisher’ started by one of your old high school classmates?’_

“I hear those air quotes in your voice. Stop being so you and bask in the moment because I, your only son, have accomplished a thing. And no, it’s not a back alley deal, it’s the offshoot of an offshoot of some bigger publisher I can’t remember right now.”

 _‘Okay, fine. So what asinine topic did you write on? “Five Easy Ways to Skate By in Life”?’_

Rolling his eyes, Shawn balanced his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reached for the refrigerator. “First of all, that’s a terrible title. If you’re going to do something that easy, there has to be at least three bad puns somewhere in the name. Second of all, it’s going to be a how-to for detective work, and third of all, it—”

 _‘Oh no. No. Shawn, I know you’ve pulled a lot of clever BS over the years and made some good guesses, but you are not qualified to teach anyone how to solve crime. Your way is the exception, not the rule.’_

“Wow, Dad. That may be the fourth nicest thing you’ve ever said about my work.”

 _‘Yeah? Don’t get used to it.’_ A new and fleeting pause— enough for consideration but not a comeback, so probably a three out of ten on the scale— hung over the line before Henry asked, _‘What’s the “third of all?”’_

“Third of all, which I was going to say before you so nicely tried to steamroll all over my creative process, is… technically, I haven’t written any of it yet?”

 _‘…What?’_

“Yeah.”

 _‘If you haven’t written anything, then how the hell did your publisher agree to print a book that doesn’t exist yet?’_

“Oh, c’mon, Dad— they do it with authors all the time.” Shawn leaned out of the fridge, unable to concentrate on his options while keeping up a mental fencing match with the king of contrarianism. “I just gave them a few lines that sounded good and said that I still need my editor to proof some stuff, and I’m missing some quotations and all those fun bits from other crime experts.”

Henry snorted. _‘Oh yeah? Like who?’_

“Uh, duh.” Honestly, Shawn would have thought it was obvious by now. “Why else would I be talking to you about my book?”

 _‘…No, Shawn.’_

“C’mon, Dad, please!”

 _‘No! In absolutely no way am I going to associate myself with your sham of a detective’s manual!’_

Ugh. _Killjoy._ Here Shawn was offering his beloved father the chance of a lifetime to be in a published book and read worldwide (or at least statewide), and said father was being a predictable grouch about it. “Okay,” he said, leaning his hand on the overhead freezer, “if my book is going to be such a sham, wouldn’t you feel some responsibility to put your own unmatched wit and wisdom into the pages to, hypothetically, counteract all my mistakes?”

 _‘Maybe. But I am not doing all your work for you. This is your mess, as per usual. You clean it up. Also, there’s no quoting me or mentioning me by name in this book, do you understand? I want to be left out of this.’_

“Aww, c’mon. Don’t you want to give the world a chance to experience the wonder that is your ultimate and undoubtedly manly bubble bath recipe?”

 _‘What does that have to do with being a detective?’_

Shawn harrumphed. “And that question is exactly why I have a book deal and you don’t.”

 _‘That’s fine, because I never wanted one. Promise me you won’t wrap me up in this.’_

“Mmm… potentially.”

 _‘Shawn…’_

“How about I have my agent get in touch with your agent and we’ll work on it.”

 _‘Shawn, I swear to God.’_

Before Shawn’s brain could tumble down the rabbit hole of wondering why people always swore to God, (supposedly God didn’t even like cussing), he exclaimed, “Oh, wow, look at the time, it’s almost time that I did that one totally important thing— gotta go, Dad.”

 _‘Shawn—!’_

The silence of hanging up a call, while not very high in the dramatics department, definitely ranked at a _very useful_ out of ten.


End file.
